Wednesday's Child
by HappyChaos3D
Summary: Sam thought making it to Wednesday would mean his ordeal was over, but the sight of his brother lying awkwardly in the parking lot only proved him wrong. Missing scene from "Mystery Spot"


Missing scene from "Mystery Spot" because I loved that episode and I wish they had the time to make it longer.

Summary: Sam thought making it to Wednesday would mean his ordeal was over, but the sight of his brother in the parking lot only proved him wrong.

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**Wednesday's Child**

By Deana W.

_Wednesday's Child is full of woe._

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As Dean began to load the trunk, he couldn't help but think about Sam. Man he was acting weird! But on the other hand, memories of yesterday were pretty foggy. He didn't doubt Sam's story about a time loop, especially after meeting up with the Trickster, but it still seemed hard to believe. A time loop? That was weird, even for them. Like, dingo ate my baby weird. Still the thought of the Trickster messing with his brother like that had him reeling. Dean was sketchy on the details, so he would have to ask Sam about what happened later, once they were on the road.

Dean heard footsteps behind him as he closed the false floor to the trunk. Speaking of Sam… "You sure we should just let the Trickster go?" Dean asked, slamming the trunk shut and turning around. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw that it was not Sam, but the guy from the restaurant yesterday, Cal he believed the name was, and he had a gun aimed at his head.

"Give me your wallet!" he demanded.

Dean slowly raised his hands in the air, "Whoa, whoa, whoa buddy, relax."

"I am relaxed!" he insisted, with agitation clear in his voice.

Unafraid Dean said, "OK. All right. Nobody wants this to end the wrong way. Let's talk about this a sec." Dean knew he could easily disarm his would-be mugger, but his thoughts kept bringing him back to yesterday, with the Trickster. How many Tuesdays had Sam lived through only to see Dean die over and over? Was this part of his game? Did the Trickster only curse Sam to repeat the same thing on Wednesday? No, Dean decided, he could handle this guy.

"Give me your wallet!" Cal pressed, waving the gun at Dean, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"OK, OK," Dean nodded, his hands still in the air. Carefully he reached for his wallet from his back pocket, never losing eye contact with the thief. The moment he'd hand over his wallet would be the moment he'd disarm the mugger. Dean had fought more dangerous foes than this amateur. But as Dean continued to think about yesterday—not the yesterday he remembered, but Sam's many yesterdays—Dean's confidence suddenly wavered. Just how many times did Sam watch him die?

Cal was getting more and more agitated, "Come on, come on!"

Nodding slightly without losing eye contact, Dean let his fingers grip his wallet and pull it from his pocket. He toyed with the idea of grabbing his .45 instead, but deemed it unnecessary. Cal was just some harmless junkie looking to fund his next fix. He held his wallet in the air, waiting for the right moment to turn the tables on the punk like he had done many times before with enemies far more threatening.

_BANG!!!!!_

He never got that chance.

The impact sent crippling, white-hot pain searing through his chest, forcing him to fall on his back.

Cal stood still for a beat, still pointing the smoking gun at the spot Dean had been standing a second ago. He had never killed a man before and wasn't sure what possessed him to do it. He hadn't planned on pulling the trigger on the guy. He just needed the money.

"Shit," he whispered, realizing he was in serious trouble if he got caught. He grabbed the wallet and ran, giving the dying man little regard.

Meanwhile Dean gasped, using all his energy just to draw one breath. He knew instantly that it was bad. He needed to get to help. To get to Sam. Sam would patch him up. He'd even allow Sam to take him to a hospital because it was definitely bad. Really bad. More than Sam's first aid skills would be able to manage. His lips formed the name of his brother, but no sound emerged other than a gargled escape of air. _Sammy…_

He was instantly aware of how alone he was. Sam wasn't there and he needed him. Drawing another pain filled breath Dean willed himself to still the uncontrollable tremors that shook through his body and roll over. Maybe if he rolled over it wouldn't hurt so much. He managed to make it on his side, but he discovered that it only made the pain worse and much harder to breathe. He tried to roll back, but his body refused to cooperate.

_Sammy…_

His lips formed the word again in a desperate plea and he thought he heard in the distance the sound of Sam's reply. But no, he had to be imagining things. Sam was still in the hotel room. At least he was safe.

When it took all his remaining strength to take in a fraction of air, Dean knew that he was a goner. _No, not like this. I'm supposed to have more time._ When he discovered he was unable to draw another breath no matter how hard he tried to will his lungs to work, Dean's thoughts shifted back to Sam.

He thought his life would be flashing before his eyes, but instead he only managed to remember with knife sharp clarity the despair he had felt when Sam died in his arms. Even though he was destined to die in a few months anyway, he dreaded the thought of putting Sam in that position. He dreaded the thought of leaving Sam so soon, of leaving Sam to pick up the pieces, of leaving Sam. And selfishly, he dreaded the thought of spending his last moment on Earth alone, unable to say goodbye.

_Hurry Sam. I don't want to die alone. Please hurry. Please Sammy. Ple…_

Then there was nothing but Fire.

A second later Sam was running down the stairs. He caught a brief glimpse of Cal running off, and saw his brother's body lying awkwardly beside the impala. "No, no, no…" he ran to Dean's side and pulled his body into his arms. He shook his brother's body gently, as though trying to wake him from a peaceful slumber. "Hey, hey, come on, not today…" There was no response from Dean and Sam continued to shake him. "Not today. This wasn't supposed to happen today. Come on…"

He closed his eyes a moment, stilling himself as he held Dean's body. He shut his eyes tight and waited. He opened them again, half expecting to be back in bed, expecting to wake up to the radio playing "Back in Time", expecting to hear his brother in the bathroom brushing his teeth as though nothing was wrong, asking Sam if he was going to sleep all day. Expecting to find himself stuck living another Wednesday just as he had lived well over a hundred Tuesdays.

But when he opened his eyes he was still in the parking lot. He was still holding Dean's lifeless body in his arms. "I'm supposed to wake up," he murmured in lamentation. Sam pulled him closer and buried his face in Dean's shoulder, fighting back tears.

Sam closed his eyes again. "Wake up, wake up, wake up…" he whispered, unsure if his mantra was directed towards himself or towards Dean, all he knew was that if one of them were to wake up, everything would be fine again.

Sam choked back a sob, shaking his brother's lifeless body again. Sam studied his face, wishing, hoping, praying he'd see some sign of life, but all life was absent. This time he didn't try to restrain the cry that escaped him. He let his tears flow freely as he continued to hold Dean close to his body, rocking him gently.

"I called 9-1-1, there should be an ambulance here soon," a woman's voice broke the moment.

"Wake up," Sam continued to chant as he ignored her, his voice barely a whisper, "Wake up."

"I didn't see what happened, but I heard the shot and saw some guy running off. I thought it was a firecracker until I saw your friend. Oh god is he…?" she breathed. Sam didn't look at her, but he shook his head once and pulled Dean closer, hugging him, no longer fighting back the tears.

"I'm going to fix this Dean," Sam whispered in the deaf ears of his brother. "Somehow, I'm going to fix this. He's not going to get away with this, I promise."

"I think I got a good enough look at the guy," the woman offered, "I saw where he was going. They'll catch him I'm sure."

"C'mon man, wake up," Sam begged. His plea was to both of them. If Dean woke up, then he might be OK and the wound might not be as bad as it looked. If Sam woke up it would be Wednesday again. Sam would be willing to live a thousand Wednesday's or more if it meant saving his brother.

The Trickster wanted to force him to watch Dean die over and over again, so be it. Sam would figure something out, whatever it took, he'd figure out a way out of the time loop with both of them having a pulse. But he needed to wake up. He needed to know that it was just another time loop, just another morbid trick.

The woman carefully stepped up beside Sam and placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. Sam didn't react to that, he just continued to rock his brother's body.

"I can't lose you again," Sam murmured.

Confused by Sam's choice of words the woman leaned back, lifting her hand, but then she shook her head and stroked between Sam's shoulder blades in comfort.

"Wake up," Sam begged, "Come on, come on, please. Wake up." He closed his eyes again, wishing, hoping, praying to wake up to the sound of "Back in Time" on the radio and Dean in the bathroom brushing his teeth.

"I think he's gone," the woman said softly, "I'm sorry."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Sam exclaimed, acknowledging the woman for the first time. He recognized her as Hassleback's daughter. Her flyers of her missing father lay forgotten on the pavement beside her. "Not like this."

"Whoa! What happened?" a different voice cut in and Sam realized they were attracting an audience. Two teenage boys had gathered to watch and the hotel clerk was emerging from the office and two of the housekeeping maids stepped out of one of the rooms to get a glimpse.

"Dude got shot!" another guy said.

"Holy crap!" his friend exclaimed, "I thought nothing exciting happened in this neighborhood!"

A slightly frantic, unexpected and humorless laugh escaped Sam. If they had any idea what happened the last hundred or so Tuesdays, they wouldn't be saying that.

"Shut up! Show some respect!" the woman hissed at the boys.

"Is he dead?" one of the teenagers asked.

"Of course he's dead, look at him!" his friend replied.

Sam realized suddenly how exposed Dean was. Lying limp, dead, vulnerable, on display for the world to see. As something the crowd gathered could gawk at and talk about callously to their friends as they brag about seeing a dead body. Decidedly Sam gave Dean another squeeze, and gently laid him on the pavement. Ignoring the onlookers Sam shrugged off his jacket, "I'm going to fix this Dean. I promise," he whispered as he ceremoniously draped his jacket across Dean's pale face, giving his brother as much dignity as he could.

The finality of the action rendered the crowd silent.

"Who was he?" the woman asked gently, breaking the sudden hush in the group.

"My brother," Sam replied, his voice was hard, empty.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"He didn't deserve this," Sam whispered, his voice void of any emotion.

"No one does," she agreed.

"No, you don't understand," Sam blurted softly, "Dean he… he was a hero. He gave everything, sacrificed _everything_ for dad and me without giving what he wanted a second thought. He dedicated his life to saving people and keeping me safe with no care for his own life. It was supposed to be my turn to save him and I… he deserved better than this." Sam bit his lip, tasting the salt of his tears. He stared into the blue eyes of his comforter as she urged him to continue, her eyes large with sympathy. Sam blinked hard and when he opened them he glared at the sky, addressing the Trickster and whatever divine force could hear or would listen, "He deserved better than this! YOU HEAR ME!!!"

Sam thought back to all the other times he watched Dean die only to wake up again and repeat the process over and over. All his deaths were senseless, none of them heroic. He deserved to die a hero's death and at a much older age. Not because of a careless driver, or a tourist trap owner who couldn't safely handle a shotgun, or because of a vicious dog, or from food poisoning or freak accidents or because of some stupid random act of violence. And not in a few months from being dragged to Hell by hellhounds either. Dean deserved a hero's death. It was how Dean would've wanted to go. The Trickster could've given him that at the very least.

Dean deserved to live the life he always wanted. He deserved to settle down and have a family. Be at peace. Not have to worry about his little brother. Not have to worry about some big demon war. Not have to die so needlessly at the hands of some mugger at 28.

Dean could've disarmed his killer easily, and that fact only made it worse. For the man who rescued Sam from a fire twice, who had watched his mother die at four, the man who dedicated his life to fighting demons, vampires, wendigos, angry spirits, and anything supernatural that threatened a life, whether that life deserved to be saved or not, the man who got on a plane even though he hated flying, knowing it would crash, just to save lives, the man who had twice looked a reaper in the eye, who sold his soul to save Sam, the man who killed Azazel, the fucking yellow-eyed demon!—to die at the hands of an amateur, a junkie, a simple fucking mugger… that was insulting to Dean's integrity.

"You should've taken me!" Sam hissed at the sky, "I shouldn't be here anyway! Dean finally admits he doesn't want to die and then you take him from me? He finally begins to value his life and then you allow him to die like this? It's crap. It's fucking crap! You hear me you sick sonuvabitch? You hear me?! Is this supposed to be funny to you?"

Sam collapsed to his knees and draped himself over Dean's body and sobbed uncontrollably into Dean's unmoving chest. His fingers gripped Dean's jacket, now moist with his blood. The stress of watching Dean die needlessly over and over again, of seeing the same Tuesday more times than he could count, of waking up with the relief of discovering it was Wednesday only to find his brother dead in the parking lot was more than he could handle.

After hearing Sam's breakdown, the woman didn't know what to say, but tried anyway. "He's at peace now," she offered weakly, "In a better place. I believe that."

Sam glanced at her, his breathing hitched. He knew better. Dean _should_ be in Heaven, surrounded by warmth and peace and love, but because Dean had to be a stupid self-sacrificing ass, Sam knew better. There was no Heaven, no Peace for Dean. Only Hell, only torture.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up," Sam chanted frantically, "You're supposed to wake up damn it!"

"He's not waking up dude," one of the teenagers said in a weak attempt to comfort him.

Sam shook his head. The idiot didn't know that Sam was instructing himself to wake up. It was a dream, a vision, another time loop, or something. Dean wasn't supposed to die, not now, not like this! Sam suddenly stopped his crying. For one thing, Dean wouldn't want him to breakdown like that and cry like a baby, and secondly, it was probably what the Trickster wanted. To see him suffer. Maybe he was now cursed to relive Wednesday, but instead of waking up shortly after Dean died, he was forced to live out the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow he'd wake up and it would be Wednesday again. Maybe. He hoped so.

Breathing heavily he acknowledged the crowd and the wailing sirens coming their way. He'd be strong. He'd be calm. He'd be all right. Tomorrow would be Wednesday again and he'd have another chance to make it right. He'd go about the rest of the day. He'd play the Trickster's stupid game.

The woman who had been looking for her missing father, and who had been trying to comfort Sam was crying softly, and her eyes betrayed a slight fear at Sam's sudden change in demeanor. When his eyes met hers again, her eyes softened and she gently squeezed his shoulder. He nodded briefly, accepting for the first time her kind gesture and acknowledging that he was grateful for it.

The next few hours were a blur. The police and ambulance came. Dean had been officially declared dead on the scene. The woman gave her statement, the rest of the crowd offered what little information they could, Sam said he recognized Cal from the restaurant running away from the scene as Sam followed the sound of the gunshot out of the hotel room. In his statement, Sam gave them the aliases he and Dean used when they checked into the motel and Sam knew it to be the name on the I.D. in the wallet Cal had stolen.

Sam arranged to stay another night in the motel, which he was given free of charge. The police offered to call someone for him. He declined. The EMS guys gave him a sedative that he accepted gratefully. The sooner he fell asleep, the sooner he would wake up to another Wednesday to see Dean alive an well, the sooner he'd get another chance to make it right and save his brother.

His limbs had felt heavy once he returned to the motel room. He had promised to make arrangements for the handling of Dean's body later, believing whole heartedly that it wouldn't be necessary once he woke up in another time loop. He took the sedative and flopped on his bed, his eyes turning to Dean's bed. It was still a mess, exactly how Dean had left it. Sam also noted that Dean had forgotten to pack his toothbrush when he packed the car with his things. But that was OK. Dean was going to need it when the day resets itself. Dean always took great care in his dental hygiene.

The room was so quiet without Dean. Empty. Unable to tolerate the silence Sam turned on the TV. Just his luck it was the local news, reporting on Dean's death. They had a few facts wrong, and said nothing about the hero Dean truly was, only portraying him as a helpless victim, and the sketch of Cal was off and they didn't even mention Cal's name. Sam snorted bitterly and changed the channel. He wanted to scream when he realized he had turned it to the movie "Groundhog Day", but he left it there anyway. Dean would've appreciated the irony.

No, he _will_ appreciate the irony, Sam corrected himself, once Wednesday repeats itself and Sam manages to save Dean from Cal and whatever else the Trickster might have planned. Sam and Dean Winchester would not be defeated that easily.

The sedative kicked in and Sam drifted into a dreamless slumber. When he awoke, it was still Wednesday. At first Sam was relieved, but then he saw Dean's bed was still empty, and the room was still silent except for the TV that he had left on.

Sam wanted to cry. He was supposed to wake up to find Dean brushing his teeth, asking him if he planned to sleep all day as "Back in Time" played on the alarm radio. But looking at the clock Sam realized it was only 8:30 at night. Maybe the Trickster wanted him to play out the day all the way until midnight this time. Sam clung to that hope.

He grabbed the Ziploc bag containing Dean's things that the coroner gave to Sam earlier that day before hauling Dean's body to the morgue. His ring and the amulet Sam had given Dean when he was eight looked so wrong sitting unworn in a plastic bag. Dean never took them off.

Dean loved that ring and amulet like he loved the impala. The ring was a gift from their father, and the amulet a gift from Sam, they were a part of Dean. They belonged on Dean. They were not meant to be tossed carelessly into a Ziploc bag. Sam removed them from the bag and ceremoniously wrapped them in a small piece of fabric and carefully placed them in his jacket pocket for safekeeping. Dean will be glad to know Sam made sure they were safe.

Sam thought of the advice the police gave him about calling someone. He knew there was no point. Once Sam woke up and repeated Wednesday again, it wouldn't make a difference. There was no need to draw Bobby into the morbid time loop. But still, Sam found himself needing someone to talk to.

With a sigh Sam took out his phone and scrolled through the names stored on there. He paused at Dean's name, his breath hitched and Sam was suddenly faced with the fear that that was it. What if tomorrow wasn't today repeating itself? What if he wasn't going to be granted with a second, third, hundredth chance to save Dean? Sam shook his head; he couldn't allow himself to think that way. The Trickster wanted Sam to watch Dean die over and over… he'd get those chances to save him.

He skipped past Dean's name and selected Bobby's number. It rang twice before Sam heard the gruff sound of his voice.

"Bobby here."

"Uh, hey Bobby, it's Sam."

"Hey Sam, how's it going? Any luck finding Bela?"

"Um, no, uh… there's been a… something came up, something happened."

"What's wrong?" Bobby's voice was laced with concern, and Sam realized how he must sound to Bobby. Sam's voice didn't even sound right to his own ears.

"Dean… Dean he's… there was a… someone shot him Bobby," Sam blurted.

"Is he going to be OK?" Bobby asked with urgency.

Sam couldn't answer that. He pressed the phone to his ear, taking a deep breath, but lacking the will to let it out, instead he continued to suck in short bursts of air.

"Sam? Sam!" Bobby exclaimed.

Sam dropped the phone, and exhaled sharply. He could still hear Bobby's voice on the phone, calling his name with concern. Was Dean going to be OK? No, he wasn't going to be OK! He was dead! Even if Sam did wake up to find himself stuck in another time loop, Dean was still going to die, just as he had died a hundred times before. Tuesday, Wednesday, it didn't matter; Dean was doomed to die until Sam could stop it. Until he killed the Trickster or convinced him to stop for real this time. But even then, Dean was cursed to die in a few months anyway. How was Sam going to possibly save Dean from his deal, even with Ruby's help? What if he was too late and Dean was really gone this time?

"Sam!"

Bobby's desperate voice calmed Sam enough to keep him from hyperventilating. Sam grabbed the phone and put it to his ear again, "No," Sam said softly, "He was shot in the heart. H-he… th-the c-coroner said he d-died almost… almost instantly."

Sam heard Bobby exhale softly and murmur, "Oh, god Sam, I'm… I'm so sorry. Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied.

"No. Let me come get you, let me help. You shouldn't be alone right now."

Suddenly Sam was angry, "Why? You afraid I'll make a deal for Dean like he did for me?"

"No! It's just you shouldn't go through this alone!"

Sam laughed humorlessly, "Do you have any idea what I've been through all this time? Alone? I think I can manage."

"What are you talking about?" Bobby asked. Sam and Dean had only parted from Bobby a few days ago, but Sam was making it sound like it had been months since they last talked.

"The Trickster did this Bobby, the Trickster!" Sam hissed, "Remember him? Thought we killed him then but we were wrong! Made me watch Dean die over a hundred times! Made me live the same fucking Tuesday over and over. I wake up, Dean dies, I wake up and it's Tuesday again then Dean dies again and I wake up… but I figured it out Bobby. I had the Trickster cornered and he snapped his fingers and then we woke up and it was Wednesday and as part of some stupid cosmic joke, Dean still died! It's not fair Bobby! It's not _fair_! I'll probably live today over and over again too but I can't watch Dean die again! I can't handle it."

"Easy Sam, calm down…"

"Calm down? Are you kidding me Bobby? Dean is… Dean's _dead_! And I couldn't save him, even though I've had countless chances."

"Where are you, kid?"

There was a long, quiet pause.

"What if I can't save him?" Sam asked quietly, his voice sounded like it belonged to a small child.

Sam's question confused Bobby. If Dean had just been killed, Sam was already too late, but then if what Sam had said about the Trickster was true then there was still hope for Dean. Was Sam talking about the Trickster, or Dean's deal? Maybe he was talking about both.

Bobby had to work to keep his voice steady as the reality of Sam's bad news began to sink in. John's boys were like sons to him and the news of the loss was a harsh blow. And after what went down several months ago with Sam's death, Bobby realized that if one of the Winchester boys went down, the other was soon to follow. Dean's sacrifice only proved that.

"I… I don't know Sam."

Bobby's answer was met with silence. He could hear Sam breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was on the brink of tears or a nervous breakdown. Bobby understood completely. Just a few days ago Bobby had seen Dean alive and well, saving Bobby's life, deciding finally that he wanted to live, vowing to hunt Bela down and get the colt back. Bobby couldn't believe Dean was actually gone. Not now, not like this.

"Sam, let me come to you, let me help. Please. Where are you?"

"Forget it Bobby," Sam whispered, "But thank you. I… I just thought you should know about Dean, but I think I need to do this on my own."

"Do what?" Bobby asked, worried about what Sam Winchester had in mind. "Sam? Do what?"

Sam flipped his phone shut ending the conversation and fell back into his pillow. "Wake up, wake up, wake up…" Sam chanted, until he fell asleep.

At 7:30 the alarm went off and the radio blared, "_What'cha gonna do when I'm gone, what you gonna do? What'cha gonna do when I'm gone?"_ Sam opened his eyes sat up. That wasn't the right song. Dean's bed was still empty, just as Dean had left it. The bathroom was empty. Sam's jacket still had Dean's blood on it. Sam looked at the clock.

It was Thursday.

Dean was still dead.

Cal was going to die.

The Trickster was going to pay.

He was going to save or avenge Dean.

One way or another, if it's the last thing he'll do.

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The end.

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A/N Thank you for reading. Please leave a review. Constructive feedback is craved and needed. Every review is appreciated and welcomed. Have a great day!


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